


But This is Smallville

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Crossover, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-26
Updated: 2001-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-01 06:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/353347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex ruminates on the weirdness that is Smallville; and is surprised by Clark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But This is Smallville

## But This is Smallville

by Carla

[]()

* * *

Not really "spoilers", but mention of various VotW - 

This is my first-ever, and possibly only, fic (the boys inspire me, they do). Feedback welcome, but be gentle with me. Okay to archive, but let me know where. 

But This is Smallville 

"People can't fly, Lex." That's what he'd said to me before, his blue eyes wide, guileless. Just how good was this boy at lying? 

Wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. And I'm not even sure how to start. I'm not used to being unsure. I am, after all, a Luthor, my father's son in more ways, sometimes, than I care to think about. 

So I'll start with Smallville. A strange place, this little hick town, in the middle of hick nowhere. I'm surrounded by farmers and freaks. Weird things happen here - the boy who thought he was a bug and tried to mate with the head cheerleader; the football coach setting fires, it appears, by _thinking_ about them; another kid who somehow sucked warmth from other people and could freeze water, and _fire_ with his touch. And Clark...well, Clark somehow doing what he's doing. And the people - they don't _cover up_ the weirdness; they don't hide it. It's like they just don't _acknowledge_ it. 

And I'm weird since I've been here, exiled by my father, being taught one of his endless lessons. It's _weird_ that I've found myself captivated by, of all things, a farm boy. A big doe-eyed, dark haired hunk of a farm boy, to be sure, but I'm breaking all the rules I've set for myself over the past few years. I don't let boys spend the night, no matter how pretty; I don't fall asleep in someone's arms; I don't chase jailbait (not since Club Zero, anyway). Ah, but these rules don't apply where Clark is concerned. Even though I _know_ he's lying, covering up...something. I've known that since the accident, certain that I hit him (at sixty miles an hour, no less). We should _both_ be dead. I know that, and I'm sure he knows that, but he won't talk about it. 

Maybe what he's doing isn't uncommon, here in the Meteor Capitol of the World. 

Anyway, he's upstairs asleep, and I sit down here trying to write...something. How can I write about how it felt to finally be able to touch him; to run my fingers through his black hair; to press my lips against his and feel his response; to slowly undress him and to have his large farm boy hands fumbling at the buttons of my shirt. I laughed when he finally just ripped it open, the buttons making "tic tic tic" sounds as they hit the floor. 

How to describe _finally_ making love to him, tasting him, watching his eyes drink me in. I didn't feel the slightest twinge with him. It never occurred to me that he might find me freakish. I knew in the way that he looked at me...he thinks I'm beautiful. He even said it as he licked my lips, tasting himself there, his hands cradling my head. "You're so beautiful, Lex." 

Later, lying spent and satiated, he whispered "I should go." And I broke another rule, "Stay here tonight, Clark." 

I promised myself I wouldn't go to sleep; I'd just lie there next to him until he dozed off. I waited, and when his breathing was slow and steady, his full lips slightly parted, I started to pull away. His arms, even in sleep, tightened around me and I felt...good; and cherished. The last thing I remember was thinking "How odd", as I settled more comfortably, my head on his shoulder. I'm not sure how long I slept. 

I woke up in the quiet dark, somewhere in that time between latest night and earliest morning. I was cold and Clark was...well, he was floating. That's it; he was floating. I fought down the "What the _fuck_?" that was right on the tip of my tongue. And I thought, "I'm dreaming. People don't fucking _float_." ("People can't fly, Lex.") And I willed myself to wake up, long seconds before it really hit me that I was awake, and Clark was asleep, at least a foot above the surface of the bed...with a goddamn _smile_ on his face. 

Very slowly, I moved off the edge of the bed, padded around to the other side and looked underneath him. 

"Yep",I thought, "he's floating." And I didn't know if I should laugh or scream. I did neither, instead moving across the room and sitting in a chair. I was afraid to look, afraid not to. 

My father's voice in my head then, ("Luthors are not afraid, Lex.") But I bet ol' Dad never saw fifteen year old farm boys floating above the bed. "Then again..." I thought; and almost laughed out loud. "Oh...is this what hysteria feels like?" 

A drink; that's what I wanted most. I came down here, poured myself a _very_ stiff one, and sat down to write this. And now the sky outside is turning that murky red-gold dawn color, I've finished half a bottle of scotch, and I should go back upstairs. But if he's still...floating, I'm really not sure I want to be there. "On the other hand...", I think, "if he can do that _awake_...with me..." Ah, damn. 

"People can't fly, Lex." But this is Smallville; weird things happen here. 

\--end-- 


End file.
